Chapter 64

Esther’s Narrative

Soon after I had had that conversation with my Guardian, he

put a sealed paper in my hand one morning, and said,

“This is for next month, my dear.” I found in it two

hundred pounds.

I now began very quietly to make such preparations as I

thought were necessary. Regulating my purchases by my

Guardian’s taste, which I knew very well of course, I arranged my

wardrobe to please him, and hoped I should be highly successful. I

did it all so quietly, because I was not quite free from my old

apprehension that Ada would be rather sorry, and because my

Guardian was quiet himself. I had no doubt that under all the

circumstances we should be married in the most private and

simple manner. Perhaps I should only have to say to Ada, “Would

you like to come and see me married tomorrow, my pet?” Perhaps

our wedding might even be as unpretending as her own, and I

might not find it necessary to say anything about it until it was

over. I thought that if I were to choose, I would like this best.

The only exception I made was Mrs Woodcourt. I told her that I

was going to be married to my Guardian, and that we had been

engaged for some time. She highly approved. She never could do

enough for me; and was remarkably softened now, in comparison

with what she had been when we first knew her. There was no

trouble she would have not taken to have been of use to me; but I

need hardly say that I only allowed her to take as little, as gratified

her kindness without tasking it.

Of course this was not a time to neglect my Guardian; and of

course it was not a time for neglecting my darling. So I had plenty

of occupation—which I was glad of; and as to Charley, she was

absolutely not to be seen for needlework. To surround herself with

great heaps of it—baskets full and tables full—and do a little, and

spend a great deal of time in staring with her round eyes at what

there was to do, and persuade herself that she was going to do it,

were Charley’s great dignities and delights.

Meanwhile, I must say I could not agree with my Guardian on

the subject of the Will, and I had some sanguine hopes of Jarndyce

and Jarndyce. Which of us was right will soon appear, but I

certainly did encourage expectations. In Richard, the discovery

gave occasion for a burst of business and agitation that buoyed

him up for a little time; but he had lost the elasticity even of hope

now, and seemed to me to retain only its feverish anxieties. From

something my Guardian said one day, when we were talking about

this, I understood that my marriage would not take place until

after the Term-time we had been told to look forward to; and I

thought the more, for that, how rejoiced I should be if I could be

married when Richard and Ada were a little more prosperous.

The Term was very near indeed, when my Guardian was called

out of town, and went down into Yorkshire on Mr Woodcourt’s

business. He had told me beforehand that his presence there

would be necessary. I had just come in one night from my dear

girl’s, and was sitting in the midst of all my new clothes, looking at

them all around me, and thinking, when a letter from my

Guardian was brought to me. It asked me to join him in the

country; and mentioned by what stage-coach my place was taken,and at what time in the morning I should have to leave town. It

added in a postscript that I would not be many hours from Ada.

I expected few things less than a journey at that time, but I was

ready for it in half-an-hour, and set off as appointed early next

morning. I travelled all day, wondering all day what I could be

wanted for at such a distance; now I thought it might be for this

purpose, and now I thought it might be for that purpose; but I was

never, never, never near the truth.

It was night when I came to my journey’s end, and found my

Guardian waiting for me. This was a great relief, for towards

evening I had begun to fear (the more so as his letter was a very

short one) that he might be ill. However, there he was, as well as it

was possible to be; and when I saw his genial face again at its

brightest and best, I said to myself he has been doing some other

great kindness. Not that it required much penetration to say that,

because I knew that his being there at all was an act of kindness.

Supper was ready at the hotel, and when we were alone at table

he said:

“Full of curiosity no doubt, little woman, to know why I have

brought you here?”

“Well, Guardian,” said I, “without thinking myself a Fatima, or

you a Blue Beard, I am a little curious about it.”

“Then to ensure your night’s rest, my love,” he returned, gaily,

“I won’t wait until tomorrow to tell you. I have very much wished

to express to Woodcourt, somehow, my sense of his humanity to

poor unfortunate Jo, his inestimable services to my young cousins,

and his value to us all. When it was decided that he should settle

here, it came into my head that I might ask his acceptance of some

unpretending and suitable little place, to lay his own head in. I therefore caused such a place to be looked out for, and such a

place was found on very easy terms, and I have been touching it

up for him and making it habitable. However, when I walked over

it the day before yesterday, and it was reported ready, I found that

I was not housekeeper enough to know whether things were all as

they ought to be. So I sent off for the best little housekeeper that

could possibly be got, to come and give me her advice and opinion.

And here she is,” said my Guardian, “laughing and crying both

together!”

Because he was so dear, so good, so admirable. I tried to tell

him what I thought of him, but I could not articulate a word.

“Tut, tut!” said my Guardian. “You make too much of it, little

woman. Why how you sob, Dame Durden, how you sob!”

“It is with exquisite pleasure, Guardian—with a heart full of

thanks.”

“Well, well,” said he. “I am delighted that you approve. I

thought you would. I meant it as a pleasant surprise for the little

mistress of Bleak House.”

I kissed him, and dried my eyes. “I know now!” said I. “I have

seen this in your face a long while.”

“No; have you really, my dear?” said he. “What a Dame Durden

it is to read a face!”

He was so quaintly cheerful that I could not long be otherwise,

and was almost ashamed of having been otherwise at all. When I

went to bed, I cried. I am bound to confess that I cried; but I hope

it was with pleasure, though I am not quite sure it was with

pleasure. I repeated every word of the letter twice over.

A most beautiful summer morning succeeded; and after

breakfast we went out arm in arm, to see the house of which I was to give my mighty housekeeping opinion. We entered a flower-

garden by a gate in a side wall, of which he had the key; and the

first thing I saw, was, that the beds and flowers were all laid out

according to the manner of my beds and flowers at home.

“You see, my dear,” observed my Guardian, standing still, with

a delighted face, to watch my looks; “knowing there could be no

better plan, I borrowed yours.”

We went on by a pretty little orchard, where the cherries were

nestling among the green leaves, and the shadows of the apple-

trees were sporting on the grass, to the house itself,—a cottage,

quite a rustic cottage of doll’s rooms; but such a lovely place, so

tranquil and so beautiful, with such a rich and smiling country

spread around it; with water sparkling away into the distance,

here all overhung with summer growth, there turning a humming-

mill; at its nearest point glancing through a meadow by the

cheerful town, where cricket-players were assembling in bright

groups, and a flag was flying from a white tent that rippled in the

sweet west wind. And still, as we went through the pretty rooms,

out at the little rustic verandah doors, and underneath the tiny

wooden colonnades, garlanded with woodbine, jasmine, and

honeysuckle, I saw in the papering on the walls, in the colours of

the furniture, in the arrangement of all the pretty objects my little

tastes and fancies, my little methods and inventions which they

used to laugh at while they praised them, my odd ways

everywhere.

I could not say enough in admiration of what was all so

beautiful, but one secret doubt arose in my mind, when I saw this.

I thought, O would he be the happier for it! Would it not have been

better for his peace that I should not have been so brought before him? Because, although I was not what he thought me, still he

loved me very dearly, and it might remind him mournfully of what

he believed he had lost. I did not wish him to forget me,—perhaps

he might not have done so, without these aids to his memory,—but

my way was easier than his, and I could have reconciled myself

even to that, so that he had been made the happier for it.

“And now, little woman,” said my Guardian, whom I had never

seen so proud and joyful as in showing me these things, and

watching my appreciation of them, “now, last of all, for the name

of this house.”

“What is it called, dear Guardian?”

“My child,” said he, “come and see.”

He took me to the porch, which he had hitherto avoided, and

said, pausing before we went out:—

“My dear child, don’t you guess the name?”

“No!” said I.

We went out of the porch; and he showed me written over it,

BLEAK HOUSE.

He led me to a seat among the leaves close by, and sitting down

beside me, and taking my hand in his, spoke to me thus:

“My darling girl, in what there has been between us, I have, I

hope, been really solicitous for your happiness. When I wrote you

the letter to which you brought the answer,” smiling as he referred

to it, “I had my own too much in view; but I had yours too.

Whether, under different circumstances, I might ever have

renewed the old dream I sometimes dreamed when you were very

young, of making you my wife one day, I need not ask myself. I did

renew it, and I wrote my letter, and you brought your answer. You

are following what I say, my child?”I was cold, and I trembled violently; but not a word he uttered

was lost. As I sat looking fixedly at him, and the sun’s rays

descended, softly shining through the leaves, upon his bare head, I

felt as if the brightness on him must be like the brightness of the

Angels.

“Hear me, my love, but do not speak. It is for me to speak now.

When it was that I began to doubt whether what I had done would

really make you happy, is no matter. Woodcourt came home, and I

soon had no doubt at all.”

I clasped him round the neck, and hung my head upon his

breast, and wept. “Lie lightly, confidently, here, my child,” said he,

pressing me gently to him. “I am your Guardian and your father

now. Rest confidently here.”

Soothingly, like the gentle rustling of the leaves; and genially,

like the ripening weather; and radiantly and beneficently, like the

sunshine; he went on.

“Understand me, my dear girl. I had no doubt of your being

contented and happy with me, being so dutiful and so devoted; but

I saw with whom you would be happier. That I penetrated his

secret when Dame Durden was blind to it, is no wonder; for I

knew the good that could never change in her, better far than she

did. Well! I have long been in Allan Woodcourt’s confidence,

although he was not, until yesterday, a few hours before you came

here, in mine. But I would not have my Esther’s bright example

lost; I would not have a jot of my dear girl’s virtues unobserved

and unhonoured; I would not have her admitted on sufferance into

the line of Morgan ap Kerrig, no, not for the weight in gold of all

the mountains in Wales!”

He stopped to kiss me on the forehead, and I sobbed and wept afresh. For I felt as if I could not bear the painful delight of his

praise.

“Hush, little woman! Don’t cry; this is to be a day of joy. I have

looked forward to it,” he said, exultingly, “for months on months!

A few words more, Dame Trot, and I have said my say.

Determined not to throw away one atom of my Esther’s worth, I

took Mrs Woodcourt into a separate confidence. ‘Now, madam,’

said I, ‘I clearly perceive—and indeed I know, to boot—that your

son loves my ward. I am further very sure that my ward loves your

son, but will sacrifice her love to a sense of duty and affection, and

will sacrifice it so completely, so entirely, so religiously, that you

should never suspect it, though you watched her night and day.’

Then I told her all our story—ours—yours and mine. ‘Now,

madam,’ said I, ‘come you, knowing this, and live with us. Come

you, and see my child from hour to hour; set what you see, against

her pedigree, which is this, and this’—for I scorned to mince it—

’and tell me what is the true legitimacy, when you shall have quite

made up your mind on that subject.’ Why, honour to her old Welsh

blood, my dear!” cried my Guardian, with enthusiasm, “I believe

the heart it animates beats no less warmly, no less admiringly, no

less lovingly, towards Dame Durden, than my own!”

He tenderly raised my head, and as I clung to him, kissed me in

his old fatherly way again and again. What a light, now, on the

protecting manner I had thought about.

“One more last word. When Allan Woodcourt spoke to you, my

dear, he spoke with my knowledge and consent—but I gave him

no encouragement, not I, for these surprises were my great

reward, and I was too miserly to part with a scrap of it. He was to

come, and tell me all that passed; and he did. I have no more to say. My dearest, Allan Woodcourt stood beside your father when

he lay dead—stood beside your mother. This is Bleak House. This

day I give this house its little mistress; and before God, it is the

brightest day in all my life!”

He rose and raised me with him. We were no longer alone. My

husband—I have called him by that name full seven happy years

now—stood at my side.

“Allan,” said my Guardian, “take from me, a willing gift, the

best wife that ever a man had. What more can I say for you than

that I know you deserve her! Take with her the little home she

brings you. You know what she will make it, Allan; you know what

she has made its namesake. Let me share its felicity sometimes,

and what do I sacrifice? Nothing, nothing.”

He kissed me once again; and now the tears were in his eyes, as

he said more softly:

“Esther, my dearest, after so many years, there is a kind of

parting in this too. I know that my mistake has caused you some

distress. Forgive your old Guardian, in restoring him to his old

place in your affections; and blot it out of your memory. Allan, take

my dear!”

He moved away from under the green roof of leaves, stopping

in the sunlight outside, and turning cheerfully towards us, said:

“I shall be found about here somewhere. It’s a West wind, little

woman, due West! Let no one thank me any more; for I am going

to revert to my bachelor habits, and if anybody disregards this

warning, I’ll run away and never come back!”

What happiness was ours that day, what joy, what rest, what

hope, what gratitude, what bliss! We were to be married before the month was out; but when we were to come and take possession of

our own house, was to depend on Richard and Ada.

We all three went home together next day. As soon as we

arrived in town, Allan went straight to see Richard, and to carry

our joyful news to him and my darling. Late as it was, I meant to

go to her for a few minutes before lying down to sleep; but I went

home with my Guardian first, to make his tea for him, and to

occupy the old chair by his side; for I did not like to think of its

being empty so soon.

When we came home, we found that a young man had called

three times in the course of that one day, to see me; and that,

having been told, on the occasion of his third call, than I was not

expected to return before ten o’clock at night, he had left word,

“that he would call about then.” He had left his card three times.

MR GUPPY.

As I naturally speculated on the object of these visits, and as I

always associated something ludicrous with the visitor, it fell out

that in laughing about Mr Guppy I told my Guardian of his old

proposal, and his subsequent retraction. “After that,” said my

Guardian, “we will certainly receive this hero.” So, instructions

were given that Mr Guppy should be shown in, when he came

again; and they were scarcely given when he did come again.

He was embarrassed when he found my Guardian with me, but

recovered himself, and said, “How de do, sir?”

“How do you do, sir?” returned my Guardian.

“Thank you, sir, I am tolerable,” returned Mr Guppy. “Will you

allow me to introduce my mother, Mrs Guppy of the Old Street

Road, and my particular friend, Mr Weevle. That is to say, my

friend has gone by the name of Weevle, but his name is really and truly Jobling.”

My Guardian begged them to be seated, and they all sat down.

“Tony,” said Mr Guppy to his friend, after an awkward silence.

“Will you open the case?”

“Do it yourself,” returned the friend, rather tartly.

“Well, Mr Jarndyce, sir,” Mr Guppy, after a moment’s

consideration, began; to the great diversion of his mother, which

she displayed by nudging Mr Jobling with her elbow, and winking

at me in a most remarkable manner; “I had an idea that I should

see Miss Summerson by herself, and was not quite prepared for

your esteemed presence. But Miss Summerson has mentioned to

you, perhaps, that something has passed between us on former

occasions?”

“Miss Summerson,” returned my Guardian smiling, “has made

a communication to that effect to me.”

“That,” said Mr Guppy, “makes matters easier. Sir, I have come

out of my articles at Kenge and Carboy’s, and I believe with

satisfaction to all parties. I am now admitted (after undergoing an

examination that’s enough to badger a man blue, touching a pack

of nonsense that he don’t want to know) on the roll of attorneys,

and have taken out my certificate, if it would be any satisfaction to

you to see it.”

“Thank you, Mr Guppy,” returned my Guardian. “I am quite

willing—I believe I use a legal phrase—to admit the certificate.”

Mr Guppy therefore desisted from taking something out of his

pocket, and proceeded without it.

“I have no capital myself, but my mother has a little property

which takes the form of an annuity;” here Mr Guppy’s mother

rolled her head as if she never could sufficiently enjoy the observation, and put her handkerchief to her mouth, and again

winked at me; “and a few pounds for expenses out of pocket in

conducting business, will never be wanting, free of interest, which

is an advantage, you know,” said Mr Guppy, feelingly.

“Certainly an advantage,” returned my Guardian.

“I have some connection,” pursued Mr Guppy, and it lays in the

direction of Walcot Square, Lambeth. I have therefore taken a

ouse in that locality, which, in the opinion of my friends, is a

hollow bargain (taxes ridiculous, and use of fixtures included in

the rent), and intend setting up professionally for myself there,

forthwith.”

Here Mr Guppy’s mother fell into an extraordinary passion of

rolling her head, and smiling waggishly at anybody who would

look at her.

“It’s a six-roomer, exclusive of kitchens,” said Mr Guppy, “and

in the opinion of my friends, a commodious tenement. When I

mention my friends, I refer principally to my friend Jobling, who I

believe has known me,” Mr Guppy looked at him with a

sentimental air, “from boyhood’s hour?”

Mr Jobling confirmed this with a sliding movement of his legs.

“My friend Jobling will render me his assistance in the capacity

of clerk, and will live in the ouse,” said Mr Guppy. “My mother will

likewise live in the ouse, when her present quarter in the Old

Street Road shall have ceased and expired; and consequently

there will be no want of society. My friend Jobling is naturally

aristocratic by taste; and besides being acquainted with the

movements of the upper circles, fully backs me in the intentions I

am now developing.”

Mr Jobling said “certainly,” and withdrew a little from the elbow of Mr Guppy’s mother.

“Now, I have no occasion to mention to you, sir, you being in

the confidence of Miss Summerson,” said Mr Guppy, “(mother, I

wish you’d be so good as to keep still), that Miss Summerson’s

image was formerly imprinted on my art, and that I made her a

proposal of marriage.”

“That I have heard,” returned my Guardian.

“Circumstances,” pursued Mr Guppy, “over which I had no

control but quite the contrary, weakened the impression of that

image for a time. At which time, Miss Summerson’s conduct was

highly genteel; I may even add, magnanimous.”

My Guardian patted me on the shoulder, and seemed much

amused.

“Now, sir,” said Mr Guppy, “I have got into that state of mind

myself, that I wish for a reciprocity of magnanimous behaviour. I

wish to prove to Miss Summerson that I can rise to a height, of

which perhaps she hardly thought me capable. I find that the

image which I did suppose had been eradicated from my art, is not

eradicated. It’s influence over me is still tremenjous; and yielding

to it I am willing to overlook the circumstances over which none of

us have had any control, and to renew those proposals to Miss

Summerson which I had the honour to make at a former period. I

beg to lay the ouse in Walcot Square, the business, and myself,

before Miss Summerson for her acceptance.”

“Very magnanimous, indeed, sir,” observed my Guardian.

“Well, sir,” returned Mr Guppy, with candour, “my wish is to be

magnanimous. I do not consider that in making this offer to Miss

Summerson, I am by any means throwing myself away; neither is

that the opinion of my friends. Still there are circumstances which I submit may be taken into account as a set-off against any little

drawbacks of mine, and so a fair and equitable balance arrived at.”

“I take upon myself, sir,” said my Guardian, laughing as he

rang the bell, “to reply to your proposals on behalf of Miss

Summerson. She is very sensible of your handsome intentions,

and wishes you good evening, and wishes you well.”

“Oh!” said Mr Guppy, with a blank look. “Is that tantamount,

sir, to acceptance, or rejection, or consideration?”

“To decided rejection, if you please,” returned my Guardian.

Mr Guppy looked incredulously at his friend, and at his mother,

who suddenly turned very angry, and at the floor, and at the

ceiling.

“Indeed?” said he. “Then, Jobling, if you was the friend you

represent yourself, I should think you might hand my mother out

of the gangway, instead of allowing her to remain where she ain’t

wanted.”

But Mrs Guppy positively refused to come out of the gangway.

She wouldn’t hear of it. “Why, get along with you,” said she to my

Guardian, “what do you mean? Ain’t my son good enough for you?

You ought to be ashamed of yourself. Get out with you!”

“My good lady!” returned my Guardian, “it is hardly reasonable

to ask me to get out of my own room.”

“I don’t care for that,” said Mrs Guppy. “Get out with you. If we

ain’t good enough for you, go and procure somebody that is good

enough. Go along and find ’em.”

I was quite unprepared for the rapid manner in which Mrs

Guppy’s power of jocularity merged into a power of taking the

profoundest offence.

“Go along and find somebody that is good enough for you,”repeated Mrs Guppy. “Get out!” Nothing seemed to astonish Mr

Guppy’s mother so much, and to make her so very indignant, as

our not getting out. “Why don’t you get out?” said Mrs Guppy.

“What are you stopping here for?”

“Mother,” interposed her son, always getting before her, and

pushing her back with one shoulder, as she sidled at my Guardian,

“will you hold your tongue?”

“No, William,” she returned; “I won’t! not unless he gets out, I

won’t!”

However, Mr Guppy and Mr Jobling together closed on Mr

Guppy’s mother (who began to be quite abusive), and took her,

very much against her will, downstairs; her voice rising a stair

higher every time her figure got a stair lower, and insisting that we

should immediately go and find somebody who was good enough

for us, and above all things that we should get out.

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